What We Leave Behind
by er0sennin
Summary: A mercenary and a vault dweller walk into a bar... F!SS x MacCready. Slow burn.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey all. I've recently reemerged after a few month's hiatus. In that time, I discovered that I am, in fact, MacCready trash. After playing through FO4 again, I felt drawn to his character and was sad at the lack of Sole x Mac fics on here. So, I decided to write my own. In an attempt to be somewhat consistent (for once), I have decided to update once a week. Between work and settling in to my new home, it's all I can manage at the moment. This fic will be long and it's going to span over many chapters, so be ready! **

**Cover image belongs to morteraphan on DeviantArt.**

**Please, read and review! **

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**Chapter One: Cometh The Trickster**

The rain pattered against the crumbling asphalt. She leaned against one of the brick walls in the alleyway, watching as the shadows of those passing by flittered in the buzzing neon lights. All of them just strolled by, closing up shops and heading home. Or to the bar. The ghoul she'd met earlier appeared between the gaps in the wall and she briefly wondered where Daisy was off to. Her home was above her shop and throughout all her visits to this garbage heap of a city, she'd never seen her roam farther than that. With a shrug, she settled on it being none of her business, and fumbled in her bag at her hip for her cigarettes. The pack was new, unopened. It was the brand she used to smoke before the war.

Out of habit, she smacked the top of the pack against her wrist a few times for good measure. When she was sure all the tobacco finely packed, she opened it and flipped one cigarette upside down, filter down. For luck. She popped a different one between her lips and lit up, letting the bitter taste of smoke slide across her tongue as she inhaled. Nate used to hate it when she smoked, even made her quit when they found out she was pregnant. She remembered watching all the other moms smoke through their morning sickness but Nate swore up and down that it just couldn't be good for the baby. No proof to back up, just went off a 'paternal hunch' as he said. Maybe he was right. She wished she could tell him that now.

She relaxed her body against the brick wall behind her, her head lolling back and forth as she resigned with a sigh. Silver tendrils swirled upward toward the yellowish light of the streetlamp, and she watched idly as it flickered every few seconds.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

It'd been one month she'd been spewed out of the vault. Thirty days. Seven-hundred-twenty hours. What did she have to show for it? Jack shit. Aside from helping the Minutemen here and there (because, face it, what else could she do with no lead?) she'd been ambling about the Commonwealth looking for anyone who might have information.

She idly recalled a children's book her dad used to read to her when she was little called _"Are You My Mother?_" In the book, a baby bird hatches from his egg only to find that he's alone- his nest empty. So he takes it upon himself to go searching for his mother. He asks all sort of animals. A dog, a cat, a cow (the kind with one head). It was just a silly children's story back then. She remembered thinking, _how could this bird be so lost_? Now, she realized, she had become that terrifyingly lost baby bird. She'd woken up in a giant metal nest, alone, and set out into a scary, unfamiliar world with finding Shaun being her only goal.

Every time a woman with a pram shuffled by, she peered her head in and wondered… _are you my son?_

Something hard wedged itself into her throat and she tried to swallow with a grimace. Was it a mother's rose-tinted glasses that gave her such fleeting hope? That'd she walk through the gates of a settlement and there would be her baby. Or was it just that she saw him in the face of every infant she came across? She tossed her cigarette to the ground and squelched it with the heel of her boot. Without looking, she knocked her pack open again with a jerk, catching the filter end of one of the cigarettes that emerged. Another one wouldn't hurt.

Another rush of smoke slithered its way into her lungs and she let out a heavy breath through her nose. The silvery billows traveled up her face and stung her eyes, but she didn't mind much. The rain started to thin out and she looked up at the sky, watching as small flecks of light peeked through the thunderheads. Everything else in the world had changed… but the stars? Those were steadfast. When she began to feel like she wasn't really here, like she wasn't a person who actually existed, she would try to look up at the sky and find the stars. Even if it were daytime. It was something that kept her rooted to reality.

She jostled the pocket of her duster with her eyes transfixed up above, wondering if she had enough caps for a room and maybe a meal tonight. She'd have to dip into her savings regardless come morning. One of the settlers had recommended a mercenary in Goodneighbor. Said he was one of the best guns for hire in the Commonwealth. Curiosity, and maybe a little desperation, got the best of her and she set out. So far, she'd had very little help and she wasn't the greatest shot. If anything, she was better with a knife or machete. After a near fatal run in with a group of Supermutants outside Diamond City, she had resigned to the fact that maybe she'd need someone to watch her back. What good was she to Shaun if she was dead? Who would save him then?

Especially since she now needed to head back to Diamond City, once again. The path was the fraught with mutants and feral, irradiated dogs. She'd be damned if she was going to get ambushed again.

And it might be nice having someone at her side who wouldn't pry into her life. That reporter in Publick Occurrences came to mind and she grimaced. The girl was sweet but way too nosy for her own good. After she'd given Piper the interview she asked for (which she may have exaggerated a tad), Piper had proposed she lend her a hand, offer her services as backup. She chose to turn her down under the pretense of working alone, rather than voicing the doubt that Piper couldn't do much, if any, damage in a fight. Then it would be two mediocre people wandering the wastes. Easy pickings for any Raiders, Supermutants, or otherwise nasty individuals out there. No thanks.

Just as she went to hassle the desk clerk at the Rexford, one of the metal doors to the alley swung open and knocked against the wall. A few metal garbage cans rattled from the movement, wobbling and barely containing the garbage that threatened to spill out of it. A man came pouring out into the street, his nose deep into a piece of paper. The brim of a hat obscured his face and, she realized, blocked her from his line of vision. He was tall. He maybe had a good foot on her, at the very least. The duster he adorned was worse for wear with various tears and holes towards the seams. One sleeve had been torn off entirely. She quirked a brow.

Around one thigh was a bandolier practically brimming with high caliber bullets. At his waist, a pair of binoculars were tied to a belt, and the strap to some sort of weapon cut diagonally across his chest. She let her eyes wander to his shoulder and caught a glimpse of a rifle. Interesting. Just in case, she let the tips of her fingers brush against the pommel of the bowie knife strapped at her hip. But the man hardly noticed her.

He seemed to hyper focus his letter, pouring over each page as he flipped them over and backwards again and again like he was starved. Then, with the most care she'd seen from any wastelander, he delicately folded the papers back up and tucked them into a pocket inside his duster. There was a brief pause where he just stared at the ground, swaying slightly on his feet, as if in a trance. His hands were clenched into tight fists at his side and his shoulders trembled, as if he were silently laughing. Or crying. He brought a trembling hand up to his face and wiped his eyes, muttering something under his breath. His other hand darted into his bag and reemerged with a familiar pack and a gold flip lighter. The stogie bounced between his lips as he brought the lighter up, striking it again and again with no luck.

"Son of a b— ugh!" He ground out. Again, he tried to get the lighter to ignite. No dice. "God damn it."

"Here," she spoke up.

In her hand, she extended her own lighter out to the man. He jumped at her voice and looked up, startled, as if she'd just snuck up on him. Part of her wanted to laugh at the accusing stare he threw at her and then at her hand. He reminded her of a stray dog whose trust you had to earn before they'd let you scratch behind their ear.

She proffered it to him once again, waving it around like a tantalizing piece of meat. "Please, just use my damn lighter. Watching you is almost painful."

He crossed the distance between them in a few strides, taking the lighter from her wordlessly. As he brought the lighter to his cigarette, she procured another of her own, pinching it between her lips. What was this now, her third one? She shrugged internally. The wavering yellow light of a flame appeared before her face and she looked up at the man curiously. He was lighting her cigarette for her. She accepted the gesture with a cocky grin, balancing the cigarette between her forefinger and thumb. Like the French use to do. He gave the lighter back to her and she tucked it into her bag.

"Lighting my cigarette for me, huh bud?" She almost laughed, letting one hand fall to her hip. "You sure know how to make a lady feel fancy. Would've thought I was Marilyn Monroe for a second."

"I have no idea who that is." The man finally spoke.

His voice was softer and less gruff than she'd anticipated. Or maybe smooth was the right word to describe it—like a nicely aged bourbon whiskey. He looked young, but she was bad with age. His face was marred and a little dirty, much like the other people in this post-war hell hole were. But underneath it all, she found he had the most startling blue eyes. Almost like robins' eggs. They were so bright, she could even see their intensity in the dim lighting of the alleyway.

Did Robins even exist anymore? All she saw were crows.

"You know, the actress? Bleach blonde hair, breathy voice, big…" she mimed a body around hers that was much more curvaceous than her own. At his blank stare, she brushed him off. "Ah, never mind. Having to explain a joke really kills it."

"Sorry," he shrugged. "What are you doing out here?"

At this, she shot him an incredulous look, nodding to her cigarette. "I don't know. What do you think?"

"Ah, sarcasm is noted," he chuckled a bit at this. "And also appreciated. You know you can smoke inside, right?"

"Yeah, I know." She eyed smoldering end of her cigarette. "For some reason, the smoke just tastes better when you're outside. And alone."

"If that's a hint for me to leave…"

"Oh, so he can take hints? Well, I'll be a squirrel in a skirt," at his baffled look at the use of her idiom she just clicked her tongue in annoyance. "Southern thing. My dad used to say it. It's used to convey surprise."

There was a pause where he decided to blatantly ignore what she said.

"I meant what are you doing _here_, in Goodneighbor?" He asked as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You don't look like the seedy type. Actually, you look… normal. That's suspicious in this place."

"That explains why you look like you haven't bathed in a week. You must fit right in," she said pointedly. The guy didn't laugh at this though, he just stared down at her from beneath the brim of his hat. "Okay. I guess you have a limit on your sense of humor. I don't live around here, I'm just looking for someone."

At that she froze in contemplation, giving the man before her a swift up and down.

"Say, you might know where to find him."

"I might. Who is it you're looking for?"

"I was told about a gun for hire- a mercenary, here in Goodneighbor. Thing is, the person who recommended him to me didn't tell me exactly _where_ in Goodneighbor to look," she finished her cigarette and tossed it into a puddle. "Heard he's the best shot in the Commonwealth."

"You don't say?" Oh, now he was intrigued. "There's only one man in this town that I can think of that fits that description. Heard he's really handsome, too."

"That… doesn't really matter much to me, but great! What's his name?"

"How about for a small fee, I'll tell you who you're looking for?"

"Really? Trying to bleed me for caps? You people…" She crossed her arms with a huff, determined to storm off and find this mercenary on her own time. But she was pretty desperate for some good help and had wasted enough time. "What's it gonna cost me?"

"Let's say… two-hundred-fifty caps. Non-negotiable."

At this, her jaw slid open. "You have got to be fucking with me. I was thinking sliding you something like fifty caps, but two-hundred?"

"Two-hundred-fifty, to be exact."

"Look, bud, everything is negotiable. How's a hundred caps sound?"

"Nope."

"Ugh, okay," she reached her hand into her bag. "One-fifty?"

"I told you, it's a firm price."

"One-eighty."

He just stared blankly at her. This was ridiculous.

"Look, why are we even haggling here? I'm sure I could just walk around and find out who he is from someone who_ isn't_ trying to scam me."

"Everyone in Goodneighbor will try to scam you," he said flatly.

"Two-hundred?" He seemed to quietly deliberate and she felt her patience begin to fray. "Oh, for fuck's sake. That's all I'm willing to spare and even then, that's a ridiculous price for some information. I still have a hiring fee to think about."

"Okay, deal." With a sideways grin, he stuck his hand out to her.

She placed the bag of caps into his palm and he jiggled it a bit before settling on her with a stare. After a few beats of nothing but steely silence, she began to wonder if this man had conned her out of her money. Damn. She thought she was good at reading people. What a shame. She looked up at him expectantly, opening her hands and gesturing around them.

"Okay, are you gonna tell me who he is? Or maybe, you can lead me to him. You know, actually put a little work in and earn those caps I just forked over."

"Lady, you're looking at him." He thumbed his chest and puffed it out almost proudly. "MacCready at your service."

"No," she shook her head. "Give me my caps back. You're clearly messing with me."

"I'm not joking," at this, the prideful look from his face fell and was replaced with another steely glare. "I'm the mercenary you heard about. I'm usually holed up in the VIP lounge in The Third Rail, but I came out here for a breather."

"_You're_ the best shot in the Commonwealth?" Her eyebrows shot up into her hairline. "Oh no. No, no, no, NO. Give me my money back… I demand a refund." She took a step closer, realizing that she had to tilt her head back to look at him in the face.

"You're joking right?" A short, sarcastic laugh left his mouth. "I've been doing this since I was a kid. I know my way around."

"You look like you still _are _a kid," she deflated and sunk back against the wall. "To think I lent you my lighter. Such betrayal."

Well, it looked like this was another dead end. Her next mission was to find that settler who recommended him to her and give them a few reprimanding stabs with her bowie knife. Ah, maybe that was too harsh. She wouldn't stab them all the way, only give them a few warning jabs with the tip of the blade. Just to get her point across.

"Look, I've been having any potential business chased out of town by the Gunners. I used to run with them back in the day but it's been a few months since I've been out and they're still bitter. I need the caps and," he looked her up and down, "honestly, it looks like you could use the help. How's this… you point, I shoot. We split any loot we come across down the middle. Pretty simple arrangement. If you don't like how I'm performing, we can part ways."

"What about my money?"

"It's mine now. Fair and square."

She looked at him once again with almost a certain kind of… respect. The man could certainly hustle. Hate the man all she wanted but she had to respect the game he played. The way he talked her out of her caps was way too smarmy for her liking but it seemed like he was pretty desperate for the caps. And who was she to judge? After all, she'd been desperate for a solid month now. At this point she had nothing to lose and everything to gain. It was just as likely that he'd take her money and put a bullet in her back the second she let her guard down but, eh, she'd take her chances.

"Ugh,_ fine_." With a muttered expletive, she pushed herself away from the wall. "I'm renting a room at the Rexford. We leave first thing in the morning and, so help me god, you better be here when I wake up."

"Sure thing, boss." She could feel his eyes on her retreating form as she went to exit the alleyway. But she stopped when she heard him call out to her again. "By the way, what's your name?"

With a sigh, she ran her fingers through her straw-colored hair and turned to face him with a small wave.

"Vivian. What a displeasure it's been doing business with you, MacCready."

The last thing she heard was the echo of his laugh as she headed towards the hotel.

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**A/N: At my smoking while pregnant remark... have any of you seen Mad Men? Back in the day, before cigarettes came out as harmful, it wasn't out of the norm to see pregnant women smoking. Or drinking. Just in case any of you decided to judge me or my Sole :P **


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey y'all! Sorry for the delay. Work has been kicking my ass lately. A special thank you to The_Konfessionist for their lovely review (and fav/follow)! It's nice to have support from fellow writers. Here's my newest chapter, I hope you all enjoy. **

**Please read and review! Feedback keeps me going. **

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**Chapter 2: An Axe For All Ages**

It was a gloomy day in Goodneighbor as MacCready leaned against the entrance to the Rexford. Rolling clouds with a green tinge lingered in the distance and he heard the rumbling of thunder. His internal clock had stirred him from sleep about a few hours ago and he'd since been killing time. For a woman who'd tried so menacingly to threaten him about not being here in the morning, she sure did sleep like she didn't have a care in the world. For all she knew, he'd taken her caps and skipped town by now. It was a good thing she hired probably the only mercenary in a hundred mile radius who actually followed a personal moral guideline. His morals might not be inherently good, sure, but when someone paid him for a job he usually kept to his word.

Last thing he needed was another debt he had to repay.

His new employer had caught him reading one of Duncan's letters last night. Daisy hadn't seen him all day and swung by the Third Rail to drop off some mail for him after her shop closed. Her timing had been impeccable because she walked in on him being hassled by Winlock and Barnes. Of course she knew better than to get involved but she did have a few choice words to throw at the men as they left.

It'd been almost two weeks without a letter from the Capital, so when Daisy handed him a stack of envelopes tied together with fraying twine, he nearly bolted out of his chair of excitement. But as he opened the first letter and saw that it wasn't written in his son's childish handwriting, a cold sweat had settled over his skin. If it was bad news, which he was certain it was, he couldn't read it in somewhere like the Rail. He'd begun to panic and fled to the top floor and used the side entrance to avoid any prying eyes. Unfortunately, the alley hadn't been as private as he'd hoped.

He wasn't sure how long she'd been standing there or how much she saw. It didn't really matter, he supposed. It's not like she had x-ray vision and could see what was written on them. Duncan was still alive but he'd gotten some unfortunate news regarding his health from his caregiver. MacCready had never been more thankful for the dim lighting in the alleyway, because all of his credibility would've been out the window if she'd been able to see his face. Nobody wanted to hire a weepy mercenary.

The first thing he noticed was how out of place she seemed. Her blonde hair was well kept and styled, her face clean with only the slightest hint of makeup, and she wore a pip-boy on her wrist. If she were a true veteran of the wasteland, he found it highly unlikely that she would take such care to appear so put together. After all, it only took a few weeks of consistently being covered in blood and grime before you stopped caring what you looked like. All that mattered was survival. He suspected she was from a vault. It was the only thing that made sense.

Thunder rumbled again, only this time closer, and he shook his head. If his employer didn't get up and head out soon, they'd get stuck in the middle of that rad storm. Last thing he wanted was to be exposed to a high dose of radiation and potentially sprout a second head. With an annoyed grunt, he made his way inside the hotel. The lobby was fairly empty save for a few regulars. Fred was by the bathrooms and a worker idly mopped the hallways behind the front desk. That's when he and the hotel manager made eye contact and he strolled over.

At his arrival, Clair shook her head disapprovingly. "MacCready, for the last time, we won't give you a discounted room on Hancock's tab. You either pay up front or you sleep on the street."

"I love it when you talk dirty to me, Clair." At his comment, Clair's face scrunched up, as if she'd just tasted something sour. "I'm looking for someone. She's about yea high," he gestured to the middle of his chest with his hand, "blonde. Has a pip-boy."

"Yeah, I've seen her. What business do you have with someone like that?" She sounded suspicious. "I won't have you gunning people down in my hotel, MacCready."

"Do you really think that's all I do?" Clair went to open her mouth and he raised his hand to stop her. "You know what? Don't answer that. And no, I'm not here to shoot anyone up. She hired me and I'm supposed to meet her here."

The woman still didn't seem convinced but after a few beats of silent deliberation, she just shrugged. "Top floor. At the end of the hallway, last door on the left."

"You're a doll."

The stairs were annoying and he couldn't help but grumble as he ascended them. He really wished they would get the elevators running. But he knew Marowski was more concerned with pocketing extra caps than keeping this place in shape. It was the only hotel in the settlement after all. If it was all people had, they'd be forced to use it no matter the quality.

Finally the door to her room came into view and he marched up to it. He raised his hand to knock but paused when he heard a muffled voice through the door. It was near impossible to hear what the voice was saying but it was definitely a man. He really shouldn't be snooping but his interest was piqued. Slowly, as to not make any noise, he leaned closer to the door, his hand still poised and ready to knock. A soft click could be heard from somewhere in the room before the man's voice started again. Doubt flittered across his mind as he considered that he maybe had the wrong room. He leaned back and wordlessly counted each door. Nope, he was at the right one. Last door on the left.

He strained his ears to try and pick up more but he heard another soft click and then… silence. After a few beats where he could hear nothing but the thrum of his own heartbeat in his ears, he finally knocked.

"If that's you, MacCready, come on in."

He tried the handle and it gave way, clearly unlocked. Was this girl an idiot? You never leave your room unlocked. It was practically an open invitation for any scav or addict to come in and steal everything not nailed down- with or without you inside. As the door creaked open, he opened his mouth to lecture her, but felt his words die in his throat at what he saw.

She sat at a bereft wooden desk near the window. Her hair was no longer styled but was now tucked into a messy bun at the nape of her neck. The duster from the night prior was discarded and hanging over the arm of the couch next to the bed. She wore a black jumpsuit with a few pieces of leather armor strapped over her arms, chest, and thighs. On the desk before her were a few scattered pieces of metal. He watched with growing intrigue as she placed the tip of her finger on each piece, her mouth moving as she silently counted, letting them fall one by one into her open palm waiting at the edge.

Were those coins? It was hard to tell. Nobody used those anymore and he wasn't sure when the last time he'd even seen any in person was. He cleared his throat and she looked up at him. Her eyes were slightly puffy and a little red. MacCready thought it best to not mention it.

"You know, you shouldn't keep your door unlocked. You're lucky it was me darkening your doorway and not somebody with bad intentions."

"How do I know you're not '_somebody with bad intentions'_?" She countered as she stood, grabbing her duster from the couch and donning it. The pip-boy was on the edge of the desk and she grabbed it, slipping it onto her wrist with a click.

"Fair enough," he chuckled. "But the fact that I haven't killed you and taken all of your valuables should be proof enough."

"Killed me… yet," she gave him a pointed look. There was a heavy looking bag at the end of the bed and she hoisted it over her shoulder. She fiddled with some dials on her pip-boy. "Are you ready to head out? It's nearly noon."

"I noticed, seeing as I've been up for a few hours already and waiting on you." He felt a flair of irritation as the words left his mouth but she seemed unfazed by it. "There's a rad storm a few miles out. We might want to leave as soon as possible and get ahead of it. Unless you _want_ to become a ghoul."

"Maybe I do," she said nonchalantly as she moved towards the door. "Who are you to judge?"

"Hey, no judgement here, boss. Just leave me out of your dreams of ghoulification."

"Leave you out of it? Tch, then what did I even hire you for?" The door closed behind them with a soft click and they moved towards the stairs. "Typical."

"Oh yeah, I'm the bad guy here. Excuse me for not wanting an extra limb sprouting out of my chest," he watched her back as they walked. "I also like having a nose."

Vivian threw a glance over her shoulder with a slight smile, her honey colored eyes glinting impishly. "But imagine all the things you could do with three arms. I think the benefits outweigh the negatives here. You just have no imagination."

At that, he found himself chuckling again despite himself. Whatever other kind of predispositions he had about this soft vault dweller, he had to admit that she did have a decent sense of humor. At least her skin was thick. More often than not, he found his sarcasm and wit falling on unappreciative ears. Not that it stopped him in the slightest. It wasn't often that he cared what other people thought of what he had to say, nor would he ever tailor his opinion to fit those around him. Employer or not.

By the time they managed to leave Goodneighbor, it was a little before one. Vivian had to stop in and barter a bit with Daisy, although she was awful at it. He wasn't sure if Daisy just felt bad for the poor woman or what, but she gave her a few stimpaks and a box of ammo for half the cost. Daisy barely acknowledged him during the exchange. Instead, they just traded off giving one another knowing nods while Vivian was distracted counting out her caps.

They'd been walking for a few hours when MacCready started to grow listless. The streets had been relatively empty with only a few feral dogs crossing their path every now and again. Vivian bobbed along ahead of him, listening to the radio station from Diamond City—volume annoyingly high. It was that song about a girl being an atom bomb or something stupid like that. Every now and again she'd hum along and he was pleasantly surprised at her ability to hold a tune. Impressed as he was, it was beyond stupid to blast music like that if they were trying to keep under the radar.

"You might want to turn that down a little, boss. Who knows what's out here," he tightened his grip around his rifle as he scanned the buildings above them. "That noise paints a giant target on our backs."

Vivian hummed a little bit more of the tune, clearly very into the song. "I think you just have a thing against good music."

"How in the hell have you survived this long?" MacCready tried to sound playful but it came out with an edge. "Sheer luck?"

At this, Vivian shot him a glare, begrudgingly turning the nob on her pip-boy. "Yeesh, okay. I get the point. No need to be rude."

"I'm not being rude," he said with a frustrated sigh. "I'm just trying to make sure we don't get our heads chewed off by super mutants or Raiders or whatever. Ya know, what you _hired_ me to do?"

Vivian seemed to shrug this off and turned the music back up. It wasn't as loud as before but it was still enough to draw attention if anyone, or anything, was in ear shot. Her blonde bun swung side to side as she went and MacCready just shook his head. If things got bad enough, he wasn't above going separate ways. It seemed she was reckless if not a little oblivious. That brought him back to previous thoughts on her being a vault dweller. Oblivious, soft, and toting a heavy wrist accessory. From this angle, with all her leather and black, she could almost pass as a mercenary. But what good was armor and weapons if you didn't know how to use them? Maybe it was just enough to keep people away from her. He eyed the machete holstered at her thigh. Big knife for such a small person. He idly wondered how many times she accidentally cut herself trying to use it.

He shook his head again. None of this really mattered. All that mattered were the caps now jingling in his pocket. Hopefully, this woman wasn't as dense as she seemed and they'd have a steady influx of caps coming in. After the letters he received last night, he knew Duncan was going to need the extra funding.

His thoughts were cut off when he heard a commotion at his flank. The grip on his rifle tightened as he brought the scope to eye level, sweeping from the alleyways to the tall buildings above them. Then he spotted them- those tall, lumbering beasts with a sickly green hue. The ground seemed to tremble beneath their boots, dust stirring up in untamable clouds, a few mutated hounds following at their heels. One, two, three… Christ, there was six of them. It was an entire goddamn pack. With growing alarm, MacCready went to alert the boss but it appeared she'd already caught on. She'd frozen in place with her hand on the dial of her pip-boy, her face still as she addressed the lingering threat beside them.

Without missing a beat, MacCready closed the gap between them and grabbed firmly on her arm, dragging her to the direction of a few hollowed out cars. "C'mon boss, we're sitting ducks out here."

Part of him expected her to fight him but she just gave in to his unremitting pull. They found some decent cover behind a couple of cars that had been neatly overlapping one another. Almost like someone had set up a small perimeter using them. He propped his rifle against the trunk and peered through the scope once again. The pack was heading in their direction but had stopped to investigate the abandoned remnants of a raider camp.

"Do you think you can pick them off from here?" Vivian's voice was soft against his ear and he had to fight an instinctual shudder.

"There's six of them, excluding the couple of mutant hounds that are tagging along," he glanced at her from his peripherals for a split second before returning his gaze before him. She was uncomfortably close. "It wouldn't be smart to engage them. We should wait it out until they pass."

"But what if we…" she trailed off for a second, her voice barely a harsh whisper. "If we don't pick any off from afar, it'll screw us over in the long run when they get closer. Six of them noticing us is a hell of a lot more dangerous than, say, two or three."

"I don't want to do anything to draw them closer to us," he snapped. "It's safer for us to stay low than risk it."

"And I don't want to take the risk of being outnumbered in close proximity," she snapped back equally as fierce. "Besides, you know they can smell us. Even if we take shelter in a building or stay behind these cars, we're at risk for being human-on-a-stick for these _ogres_."

MacCready felt all irritation dissolve at her choice of words. "Ogres?" He queried, his eyebrows raising with curiosity. "Now you're just making up words."

"No," she huffed, sounding annoyed. She pulled away so she wasn't as close and he gave a soft sigh of relief. "Ogres are… how do I explain this? They're man-eating giants from folklore." MacCready's stillness must've given away his confusion because she continued. "Fairytales? Like children's stories passed down word of mouth to others in the community. Some stories are hundreds of years old."

"Hm. Never heard of an ogre," he shook his head. The mutants had started to move again and he swallowed hard. "Although, man-eating giants is a pretty accurate description for these as—ugh, jerks."

"I know," she clicked her tongue and pulled a pistol from a holster under her arm, "that's why I said it."

"Feisty," he could almost laugh.

At his side, Vivian pulled out the clip for her automatic pistol and then popped it back into place. With the poise of someone confident in her abilities, she placed her hands around the grip and aimed towards the group of mutants in the distance, crouching close to MacCready once again. Both of her arms were straight and her shoulders hunched slightly as she tried to reposition herself.

"You're going to hurt your shoulders shooting like that," he whispered and nodded at her arms. "Keep your right arm straight and the left one bent at the elbow."

She followed his direction and looked back at him expectantly. "Like this?"

He had expected her to give some quip about being a know-it-all, but instead she did as she was told. After a quick inspection, he was pleased with her new positioning and gave a curt nod. "Yep. Just like that, boss."

Vivian went to reply but she was cut off as the crack of a weapon firing invaded their ears and they both flinched in alarm. Damn it. Their talking must have drawn their attention to them.

_Stupid, MacCready_. _You know better._

Sparks shot up as a spray of bullets ricocheted against the car in front of them and he heard Vivian let out a yelp. A flood of crimson splattered the asphalt beneath them and he quickly realized she had been caught in the shoulder. Without missing a beat, she stood from behind the car and let off a few shots before crouching back down. One of the mutants yowled as she struck them in the leg, but it didn't do much to stop their pursuit.

MacCready turned back to his scope and quickly located the mutant at the forefront who'd been firing brazenly into the cars. He took a deep breath as he lined up the sites with the beast's head, his finger switching off the safety with practiced ease. With a short exhale he squeezed the trigger and got a direct hit right between its eyes. The body crumpled to the ground and its companions stopped in apparent surprise. MacCready quickly pulled the bolt of his rifle back and loaded another bullet into the chamber. He picked off another one while they were distracted and he watched, with an odd sense of pleasure, as the creature's head snapped back from the hit.

Fire, reload, fire again.

He turned his attention to the hounds and took them down. The remaining four mutants scattered. Mutants were lumbering brutes with the brains the size of baseballs, but they could tell that being close to one another (and out in the open) like this was apparently _not working_. He pursued one with his scope as it retreated behind the wall of an abandoned building. In his peripherals, he could see another one slink off in the opposite direction and he only hoped that Vivian was a half-way decent shot. It was in her hands now.

A few shots went off at his flank as he heard Vivian firing her pistol—a string of expletives leaving her lips. He kept his sites trained on the mutant, waiting for it to poke its ugly mug out from behind the wall. Finally, he saw the glimmer of the afternoon sun shining off its greasy viridescent head, and he squeezed the trigger. The top of its skull exploded into a mess of pinks and reds and it dropped to the ground. After another tense few moments, MacCready was able to eliminate two more mutants as they fired at them from all different directions.

He was peering down his scope looking for the last mutant when, suddenly, everything was swallowed up by shadows. A shiver ran down his spine and he spun around just in time to see the last mutant looming over them. Specks of red dotted its arms and chest as it seethed, its lipless mouth opening and closing with each ragged breath. Bullet wounds covered the expanse of its barrel chest and sinewy arms. It seemed Vivian had managed to hit every non-essential part of its body. Someone needed to teach her how to aim. His gaze shot over to the back of the boss' head. Her body was deathly still and oddly reminiscent of a frightened Radstag. MacCready went to put himself in between her and the mutant but he wasn't fast enough.

The mutant lunged over the car and grabbed Vivian in its large, meaty fist. A smothered cry came from the back of her throat as she thrashed against her captor, but it was of no use, and it yanked her up into the air.

"Puny human!" The mutant barked out as it inched her closer to its face. "You die now!"

MacCready brought his rifle up again only to let out a growl at the realization that he was too close. His rifle was practically useless as this proximity. He slung his rifle back over his shoulder and took off in the opposite direction, hoping to put some meaningful distance between them. He found another car and moved behind it, going through the motions of propping his gun up and loading the chamber. Safety off.

His target landed within his crosshairs and he followed their movements, trying to gauge when to shoot. The mutant was strong but was seemingly having a hard time maintaining Vivian's wild squirming. She was close enough to prop her feet against its chest was trying to push away, futile as it seemed. Not once did his eyes ever leave her form and he felt a surge of adrenaline surge through him. If she died here it would be shortest contract he'd ever had.

The mutant had a firm grip on the leather material of her cuirass; a few fingers looped through the front and the tip of its thumb under her chin. He imagined all it would take is one flick from its finger and her head would go flying across the street like a kickball. MacCready grimaced at the thought. Vivian's arms were loose and they seemed to flail for something and he watched, his rifle poised at the ready, as she withdrew her machete from the holster. He fired, not willing to risk it, only to miss as Vivian kicked the mutant in the jaw, knocking its head backwards.

It let out a frustrated growl and brought the boss closer to its face. Then, in one fluid motion, Vivian swung her machete. It made contact with the underside of the beast's jaw and she drove the blade upward, straight into its brain. A grimace chased itself across her features and she twisted the hilt with an audible grunt. The mutant didn't even have time to react. He watched as the muscles went lax and the light within its beady black eyes dimmed and it crumpled beneath its own weight. MacCready felt his jaw drop at the ferocious display.

Vivian went down with it and MacCready reacted quickly, rushing towards them both, watching as her shock of blonde hair disappeared beneath its body.

"Boss?" He called out but heard nothing in response.

He hooked his hands under the mutant's side and gave it a push. These things were pure muscle and it was evident as he struggled to move it. His teeth grit together as he summoned every ounce of strength he had left. The heels of his boots dug into the asphalt and rooted himself firmly in place, muttering under his breath as he put all of his weight into it. Survived a super mutant horde only to be crushed to death by one of their corpses. Stupid vaultie, why did she even wander out here, to the wastes? Life was so much safer in their giant metal lunchbox underground.

"MacCready," he heard her gasp and he paused.

She shot her hand out and he grabbed firmly onto her wrist, making sure to keep one hand on the mutant's side to keep it from falling back down on her. With one tug he was able to dislodge her and she clawed her way out from underneath, looking worse for wear. Rust colored stains coated strands of her hair and covered her neck and shoulders in thick, crusty splotches. Fresh blood dripped from a cut at her scalp and he realized, in that moment, she looked almost… predatory. Like Femme-Ra in _In the Lair of the Virgin Eater_. Her hand fluttered to her shoulder with a hiss and she shook her head, tucking a wet strand of hair behind her ear.

"Mother fuckers," she ground out. There was a certain feral energy to her as she turned her simmering glare to him. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, boss. I'm doing better than you at the moment. How…" he started, not really sure how to phrase his question. "Okay, _where _did you learn to use a blade like that?"

"Impressed, are you?" A ghost of a smirk pulled at her lips before her face fell once more. She moved over to the mutant and placed a boot against its face and grabbed onto the hilt of her machete. As she talked, she began to tug and pull, trying to dislodge her weapon. "It was taught to me by someone. Long time ago. I might be shit at firing a weapon, but I'll be damned if I let anyone get the better of me in hand-to-hand."

"You can say that again," he let out a low whistle and nodded to the dead mutant underneath her boot. "Remind me to stay on your good side."

At this, she let out a bark of laughter, finally dislodging her weapon with a _squelch_. Her injured arm dangled at her side and she wiped the blade of her machete against the leg of her jumpsuit. A rumble echoed above them and they paused, looking over the horizon. The rad storm had caught up to them and he heard the Geiger counter on her pip-boy began to tick away; a warning. Of course. MacCready felt a groan bubble up from his chest and he let his head fall forward.

"C'mon, boss. Let's find some shelter and get you patched up. We can wait out this storm and continue once it passes." He thumbed in the direction of the building behind them. "This place should be fine."

"The sooner we head back out, the better," she sounded disappointed. "I'm already late."

"Well, if we had maybe left on time this morning…"

"Watch it," Vivian pointed her machete in warning.

He put his hands up in defense. "I'm just saying."

"You really want to play that game? Remember when I told you to pick them off from afar so this," she gestured to the bloodied mutant at her feet, "wouldn't happen? I haven't been covered in this much blood that wasn't mine since... well, ever."

"Red looks good on you," he said easily, watching as her face scrunched up into something resembling disgust. "If that helps at all."

"Enough out of you. Let's just get inside, my arm is killing me."

"Sure thing, boss."

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**I have a difficult time writing action scenes. Hopefully this wasn't too awful! Thanks and R+R! **


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry for the delay, y'all! No excuses, just been in a funk lately. I've taken this chapter apart a few times and tried to keep it a tad shorter than the others with a lot less action, but I thought this would be a good practice in dialogue.  
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**Hopefully it's not too boring for you guys. Let me know what you think.**

***I updated an inconsistency in the story telling. Sorry for that folks!**

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**Chapter Three: Blood on the Harp**

The rad storm hummed and rumbled outside the boarded window, and she could glimpse rolling green clouds from between the cracks. Clicks could still be heard from the Geiger counter in her pip-boy, but they were nowhere near the urgency from before. The building they'd decided to bunker down in had been old apartment buildings from before the war. It vaguely reminded her of her and Nate's first place, so many years ago. Except this place was damaged beyond all repair. Most of the walls had crumbled or deteriorated from exposure and, from what she could see, moisture.

They'd found a relatively clean room on the second floor with a view into the street. The windows were covered with broken glass and wooden boards but it gave them just enough space to keep a lookout. Vivian wanted to set up a fire, seeing as the world outside had darkened considerably, and she couldn't see her own hand in front of her face. But MacCready was quick to remind her that one, they were in an enclosed building with barely any ventilation. And two, that it'd be like a giant "hey, there's people in here! Come rob us and kill us!" She begrudgingly agreed, and instead settled on using her the light on her pip-boy. It was dim enough to keep them inconspicuous but just vibrant enough to let MacCready see her wound as he worked.

She had taken her pip-boy off and let it rest on the kitchen table white she sat on one of the chairs, MacCready crouched at her side. As he worked, she tried not to flinch, not wanting to give this merc any more reasons to think her incompetent. But as he pulled out a stimpak and shoved the needle directly into the open wound, she let out groan and turned her face away from him.

"Sorry boss," he said flatly. "I do have some good new though."

"Just out with it," she said through clenched teeth.

"It's a pretty clean shot, went through and through," he said as he turned her arm over gently. "Far as bullet wounds go, this is what you hope for when gettin' shot. Just gotta clean it and bandage you up."

"At least one thing went right today," she shook her head and peered down at the wound. It was dark, but she could still see the glimmer of fresh blood in the glow of her pip-boy. "You seem to know a little about medicine. Or, at least, wound care. Where'd you pick that up?"

"I had a friend a long time ago who showed me the basics. Became especially useful when I ran with the Gunners," he said slowly. There was an edge to his tone that she couldn't quite place. "But that's in the past."

Vivian wanted to ask more about the Gunners, but she refrained. MacCready had mentioned it the night he nefariously duped her into hiring him. She'd heard about the Gunners from a few people during her travels, but had never met a current _or_ former member. Apparently they were the most well-organized mercenary group in the Commonwealth. That would explain why MacCready had such a reputation surrounding his talent with a gun. She wondered how many times he'd been on a job and had to repair his fellow mercenaries.

"Friends who teach you valuable skills are an important asset in this life," she replied. "Mine taught me how to hack at things with a giant knife, and yours taught you how to repair wounds from things like said knife."

"With the way you handle your machete, I don't know if I could mend the kind of injuries you're able to inflict."

"Thank you?" Vivian scrunched up her face. "I think?"

"Yes, it's a compliment... you're welcome."

She chuckled to herself.

"I sure lucked out hiring a mercenary with some medical expertise," she grimaced as he brought a piece of fabric up to wipe at her wound. "Ugh, could you at least _try_ to be gentle?"

"Stop whining," he shook his head. "It's not even that bad."

"It's easy to say that when you're the one doing the mending," Vivian laughed tightly.

"Hey, I've been in your spot more times than I can count." He procured another piece of tattered cloth from his bag. It looked like gauze but it was frayed and unraveling at the edges. "Just be happy I didn't have to pry a chunk of metal out of your arm."

She watched as he produced a small bottle of clear liquor next. He took a swill from it and proffered it to her, to which she obliged. The liquid sloshed and rolled around its container as she brought it shakily to her lips, trying to coax the anxious thrumming of her heartbeat back to normal. Long gone were the days of saline sprays and sterile bandages- at least not ones that were easily within reach. She knew what he was going to do next and it made her insides twist.

In all likelihood, the introduction of the alcohol to her wound was bound to hurt way more than the initial injury. At least she'd had adrenaline surging through her limbs beforehand. That alone was enough to almost numb her to the shock of being struck by gunfire.

She handed the bottle back to MacCready, blinking away the tears that formed at the brim of her eyes as the alcohol burned its way down her throat. Without hesitation, he poured the alcohol onto her wound, letting it dribble across her skin and soak the exposed flesh. Goosebumps nipped at her skin as he turned her arm over, pouring a bit more alcohol onto the exit wound. Covering all bases. Vivian sucked in a breath as a burning, pulsating pain shot up from her arm and into her chest. But as quickly as the sensation came on, it ebbed away, leaving only a tingling sensation in its wake.

"That wasn't so bad, eh? The stimpak should help." MacCready brought a piece of cloth up to wipe at her arm. Bits of coagulated blood and dirt came away to reveal a quarter sized perforation. With surprising gentleness, he tied a separate, clean piece of cloth around her arm.

Vivian blinked. "I've been through worse… maybe not physically. But still."

"You and me both," he replied. He stood up and eyed his handiwork, taking his hat off to run fingers through his grimy hair. "There. All better." There was a brief pause while she studied the cloth, watching as fresh blood spread across the fabric. "Was this your first time?"

Vivian threw him an incredulous look before he pointed at her arm. "Oh… uh, yeah. Sort of."

"Sort of?" MacCready wiped his bloodied hands against his pant legs. "How can you _sort of_ get shot?"

"Well… the last few times, the bullets just grazed me. Usually I end up with a few cuts, bruises, and stab wounds. I even took a baseball bat to the head once. But this is a first."

"Glad I got to witness your cherry being popped," he said teasingly. "So to speak."

"Nice, real classy MacCready."

"I never said I was classy, boss."

Vivian shook her head and tried to fight the smile that pulled at her lips. "I'm going to see if I can get some of this mutant blood off of me."

MacCready just gave her a knowing look and dragged a kitchen chair over to the window, plopping down and draping his rifle over his legs.

The sink was rusty with flakes of cheap paint scattered along the basin, most likely from the peeling wallpaper above it. The mirror that hung over it was cracked and broken in several place but she was still able to make out her reflection. And it was not a pretty sight. It was hard to tell if there was even a person under the caked layers of mutant viscera and chunks of bone. With a sigh, she located a towel underneath the sink and turned on the faucet. The water was foggy and it spattered every few seconds as it ran. That was just radiation poisoning to happen. She made a mental note to utilize the RadAway in her bag.

There was a time when her biggest qualms with her reflection were crow's feet and realizing she needed a root touch up. Now, well… things were different. She still took the time to look presentable when she could. It was a habit she had a hard time shaking. It had been almost ritualistic back her in day and it was usually expected of women to look sparkling and beautiful at all times.

Now she wore mutant intestines instead of foundation and gunpowder smudges in place of eyeliner.

She managed to clean up fairly well, although she'd probably need an actual shower once they reached Diamond City. When she left the bathroom, hair soaking wet and probably looking like a drowned rat, she noticed MacCready had set his rifle against the wall and settled on eating. At the sight, her stomach growled and she realized she hadn't eaten at all that day.

Without looking up, MacCready gestured to something across from him. "I fixed you a plate. It's not much, but it's something."

"Thank you." Vivian grabbed the plate which had been neatly prepared and portioned. "What's on the menu tonight?"

"Radstag jerky," he bit off a chunk using his hand, wiping away at a piece that had fallen into his facial hair. "And some tatos. The tatos are cold but it's better than nothing."

"I haven't had jerky in ages," she picked up a piece of the dried meat and eyed it. "Or any meat, for that matter."

At this, MacCready stopped inhaling his food and looked up at her quizzically. "What do you mean?"

"I was a vegetarian for most of my life," she took a test bite of the food and chewed it, trying not to grimace at the texture. "It's been hard for me to adjust since coming here."

MacCready continued eating. "Never heard of a vaultie that didn't eat meat. Sounds ridiculous, if you ask me."

That made her pause.

So, he thought she was a vault dweller. Huh. Well, he wasn't technically wrong. Most people assumed because of the pip-boy that she'd spent most of her life underground. And sure, she did spend two centuries inside of one- locked away and on ice like a forgotten popsicle at the bottom of the freezer. But it wasn't her home. Most vault dwellers grew up within the confines of their metal homestead; like the one's she stumbled upon in Vault 81. It would explain why he'd assumed she would have no practical knowledge of combat.

Maybe her subpar handling of a gun and the fact that she'd never truly been shot before only solidified his theory. And the comment about her surviving off of pure luck alone? Vivian wanted to laugh. It wouldn't hurt to let him think that for now.

"Good thing I didn't ask you," she sat down on the chair adjacent and popped a cold tato in her mouth. "I had my reasons. They seem almost trivial now that the planet is in ruins. It appears my dietary choices did little to help in that regard."

He paused, as if something she'd said didn't sit right with him. But the expression was replaced quickly by one of impassiveness and he shrugged, almost to himself. "What vault are you from?"

Vivian swallowed another bite of food. "Vault 111."

"Never heard of it," he replied. "Haven't met anyone else from there before."

"Probably because I'm the only one left." Something odd settled in her gut and it wasn't the cold tatos.

The casual feel of the conversation felt wrong somehow, like she was brushing aside the pure tragedy that comes with so many deaths. But it felt even more wrong to try and face what happened head on. It was easier to push it away for now; to turn it into some untouchable event that was separate from herself.

"No shi- ugh. No way," he rested his plate against his knee and looked up at her, his eyes sincere. "That's tough, boss. What happened?"

A lump rose in her throat and she felt every trace of hunger fade.

Part of her considered telling him... to maybe approach the topic with a cold, sterile perspective. Distance herself as much as possible from it. But as the words crept up the back of her tongue, she found herself gritting her jaw and pursing her lips, forcing it back down.

This man barely knew her. They met only the day prior. Sometimes it was easier to talk about these things with a stranger, but it was still so fresh and so real that she wasn't sure she was even able to discuss it. She often had nightmares of being stuck down there, trapped in her cryo chamber, forced to watch her husband be murdered over and over again. Verbalizing it made her pain so much more real and right now, that was something she didn't want to touch with a ten foot pole.

"It's okay, you don't have to talk about it. I get it."

His voice cut through her reverie and drew her back to reality. She looked up, dazed. "It's just a lot to process."

"Once you finish you should get some rest," he moved his chair to face the window once again. As if he didn't have a care in the world, he laced his fingers behind his head and relaxed. "I'll take first watch. You put your body through the ringer today."

She wasn't sure she could finish all the food on her plate but she'd try. It seemed almost… ungrateful to be so picky about food at this point. But it couldn't be helped. She'd conditioned herself to a certain diet for over a decade. Two-hundred years had passed up here but to her it seemed like yesterday. Fresh food was scarce and besides, who was she kidding? She couldn't last on snack cakes and cold cans of pre-war vegetables forever.

It took a bit but she was able to scarf it all down. If she held her breath and chewed really fast, she was able to get past the rough, gamy texture. It was _almost_ bearable. Almost.

A comfortable silence had fallen upon the pair and she unfurled her bedroll against the far wall; she had to make sure she was in clear view of all the doors and windows. It was the only thing that put her mind at ease.

Every part of her body was exhausted. Her muscles burned and twitched where she'd over exerted herself; her cuts, scrapes, and bullet wound all throbbing in unison. She wanted so desperately to sleep, but after twenty minutes of staring wide-eyed at the decrepit walls and bereft wooden ceilings, she found no release. No comforting blanket of emptiness to wrap herself in.

It'd been a long time since she slept in the same room with anyone. Well, at least it _felt _like a long time. A month without Nate. A month without Shaun waking her up at ungodly hours for a feeding. A month without the warm embrace of her family. God, she needed a smoke.

"Quiet down over there," MacCready broke the silence. "I can practically hear you thinking."

"Sorry," she said blearily, sitting up to grab her pack of smokes from her duster pocket. She lit up a cigarette and inhaled deeply, enjoying the heat and the comforting taste that danced along her pallet.

She pulled her duster over her lap and fumbled for the pocket, feeling for the comforting heaviness of the coins she'd tucked away earlier. She pulled them out and ran her fingers over the shiny metal pieces.

When she stumbled back into her former home after reawakening, she was relieved to find the coins still sitting in the key tray by the front door. The house had been in shambles. Gaping holes in the roof and along the walls, accompanied by fractured window frames, dilapidated furniture, and scorch marks adorning every surface. But, much like Nate, who was a steadfast and unmovable figure in her life, those coins stayed true. Almost as if they were waiting for her, welcoming her back home.

_Two quarters. Three nickels. One penny. Sixty-six cents._

She could hear Nate's voice in the back of her mind counting the exact change out each morning before work. He called them his lucky coins.

"Since you're not taking the opportunity to sleep," MacCready started from the corner, keeping his gaze out the window. "I was wondering... where are we headed, exactly?"

"Hm?" She looked up. It took her a second to register what he'd asked her. "Oh. Diamond City."

"That's not too far of a walk," he replied, running his hand along his rifle. "If we actually head out on time tomorrow, we could make it there in a few hours."

"Another dig at me being late. Come up with some new material, MacCready."

"Only if you share one of your smokes with me."

"I feel like you're still going to annoy me regardless, but here," she tossed the pack to the mercenary, who caught it with ease. He withdrew a cigarette and lit it, letting out a contented sigh of smoke. "That's coming out of your salary."

"So heartless," he tossed the pack back to her. "Even the Gunners didn't dock my pay for stuff like that."

"I'm not as generous as them. Might be best to keep that in mind," she raised her eyebrows and stared at him, oddly satisfied with the smile that pulled at his mouth.

"I'll try to remember that."

She finished her cigarette and squashed the butt out on the floor, flicking it across the room. Another comfortable silence fell over the two and she laid back down against her bedroll, feeling a little more at ease than she was before. It wasn't long before the void came up from beneath her and tugged her into its welcoming darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey y'all! Sorry for the wait. Going to school and working two jobs is way more draining on my creativity than I anticipated. So here, a peace offering of sorts: an extra long chapter. I was trying to name each chapter after a Grognak comic, but I'm running out of good titles so I'm going to start switching it up. **

**Please let me know how you're liking it so far! Thanks!**

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**Chapter 4: Ghouls, Synths, and Wannabe Gangsters**

They'd set out as soon as the sun breached the horizon and their journey thus far had been relatively uneventful. Aside from a few feral dogs and bloodbugs, which MacCready picked off easily, there was nothing out of the ordinary. The sky was clear, save for a few clouds, and he enjoyed peeking at the blend of blues above him. He savored days like this; where the fluffy white bodies of the clouds slowly crept along, allowing the sun to drench him in welcoming rays of light.

Vivian cursed alongside him as she wobbled, catching her boot on the edge of a pothole. He just threw an unimpressed glance over his shoulder before moving on.

She'd been quiet all morning, only talking when it was necessary. He wondered if asking about what happened to her in the vault had crossed a line. After all, if what she said was true, she probably witnessed something incredibly disturbing. Living somewhere for so long, growing up with people, forming bonds, only for all of them to die- to be _the only one left_? Shit. He spent so many years alone but even he could fathom the kind of pain something like that could bring. It might not be the same kind of pain, but it was the sharp, soul-sucking pain of loss that he understood.

During his first watch, he'd noticed she muttered and twitched a lot in her sleep. He'd tried to ignore it at first but after it happened off and on for over the span of an hour, he took notice. The way her brows furrowed, the tormented groans, and the clammy appearance of her skin seemed all too familiar. There were many nights, after Lucy died, where he slept similarly. Caught in a constant nightmare loop every time he tried to rest. He considered opening up to her about it but decided against it. Empathy was human but it wasn't something he was good at. At least not anymore.

That being said, his curiosity couldn't be abated. An escort job from Goodneighbor to Diamond City was relatively short. Although she was god awful with a gun, he wasn't too concerned with her ability to make the distance alone. He decided to try and make small talk and maybe satiate his growing interest.

"I know it's none of my business, boss," he started lightly. "But… what's in Diamond City?"

Vivian glanced at him from the corner of her eyes, an indiscernible expression on her face. "Well, there's an inn, a bar, a barber shop-"

"Okay, smartas—ugh," he interjected, irritation lacing his voice. "You know what I mean."

The blonde rolled her eyes before turning her face away, observing some of the tall decrepit buildings above them. "You're right, it's none of your business."

"Jerk."

"_But_," she snapped her head towards him and settled him with an icy glare, "I'm looking for information."

"About what happened to your vault?" He asked before he could stop himself.

The moment the question left his mouth, though, he realized he'd fucked up. Didn't he just tell himself not to pry anymore?

"No," she said a little too quickly. "Not exactly. It involves the vault, but more so about someone who was there with me."

He chewed on that for a moment. She was looking for information on someone? Odd, if everyone was dead. Maybe it was something she felt driven to do by grief. Some sort of closure.

"I see," he said curtly, surprised that she even answered at all. "Have you been to the Green Jewel before?"

"Once," she replied honestly, bringing her Pip-Boy up to fiddle with the nobs. "It was right after I left the vault, so I wasn't really sure what I was doing, let alone know what to look for. I only stayed for a night before I headed back to Sanctuary and did some odd jobs for the Minutemen."

"So I'm guessing you know what you're looking for now?"

Vivian's brows knotted together as she threw him an incredulous look. "You're oddly curious today. What's with all the questions?"

_Nice deflection_.

"Boss, I don't know if you've noticed… but there's nothing going on out here. You're not even listening to music and annoying me with your singing," he shrugged. "I'm bored."

"We're not too far now, try to be patient." She shook her head with a small smile. Once she was done fiddling with the nobs on her Pip-Boy, the soft lilt of a pre-war tune filled the silence. A knowing look passed between them. "There, happy?"

"Not exactly," he sighed, furling and unfurling his fingers around his rifle.

He endured her singing for the rest of the walk to Diamond City.

It was a fantastically embarrassing display of skill. Every now and then, between belting out the lyrics, she would take a break to dramatically waltz around him. Unlike her singing, which was surprisingly decent, her dancing was awkward and clumsy. There were a few times where he had to grab onto the padding of her leather armor just to stop her from running into something or falling over. That only seemed to encourage her impish behavior. Despite his determination to not give in to her shenanigans, he did find himself amused. Every now and then he'd grin when he knew she wasn't looking or throw a well-deserved teasing remark her way. But for the most part, he wore a schooled expression of indifference.

If she was willing to act like this in front of a stranger, he could only imagine what she was like when you got to know her.

The walls of Diamond City loomed over them as they approached. To his relief, Vivian had switched off the music and composed herself. After a brief interaction with the gate security, they were ushered through. MacCready was distractedly staring at some fading paint when he ran into something solid. Startled, he shook his head, groaning when he realized Vivian had come to a dead stop in the middle of the entrance. Her head was slightly cocked, a lock of blonde hair tucked behind her ear, a focused look pulling at her features. It was then that he heard it—subtle and distant but unmistakable.

Crackling sounds of gunfire sounded somewhere behind them; it reverberated off of the stone walls of the passageway to the settlement. Vivian threw him a concerned look and turned her questioning gaze back towards the street.

"What do you think that's from?"

"I don't know boss."

"Maybe someone needs help…"

"Or, maybe—hear me out," he moved only to stop at her flank, turning to face her fully. "It's a group of raiders. Or mutants, doing whatever mutants do. It's best to stay out of it."

"He's correct," a deep voice agreed.

MacCready and Vivian simultaneously turned to face one of Diamond City's security. The man was probably around his age, with a mess of sandy colored hair and stern, square features. He gave MacCready a suspicious once over before turning his attention back to Vivian.

"There's a group of super mutants holed up in an abandon building around the corner," he said evenly, bringing his hand up to take a drag of a cigarette. "They've been an ongoing issue for a while now. Probably the same cluster we've been keeping an eye on for the last few months. It's nothing my guys can't handle."

Vivian shot MacCready a pointed look over her shoulder. "That's why our walk here was so uneventful. Last time I came here, I was ambushed by a small group of them." She ran a hand over the back of her head, rubbing a spot behind her ear. "One of those green bastards wacked me over the head."

"Ah, I remember you now." The security guard's face lit up with recognition. "You're that vault dweller, right? From Vault 111? I just read Piper's article about you."

"Article…?" She gaped incredulously. After a brief pause, clarity brushed across her eyes and she pursed her lips. "Oh, that's right. The interview."

"You didn't tell me you were a local celebrity, boss." Mac nudged her teasingly, but Vivian didn't receive it well. She brushed him off without sparing him a glance, keeping her eyes trained on the security guard.

_Rude._

"That was some pretty wild story you gave her," the man arched his brows. "That thing about those guinea pigs? Gold." He took another drag of his cigarette. "It was a decent way to redeem yourself after helping her weasel back in here."

"She wouldn't have even had to trick me to get back in here if McDonough would stop suppressing the people's right to free press," she crossed her arms over his chest with a frown. "But, sure. Glad I'm redeemed."

MacCready practically watched the man bristle at her words. But he managed to keep his composure, coolly putting his cigarette out on the concrete pillar behind him. He turned back to Vivian impassively before shaking his head, stalking back to a booth at the far end of the building. MacCready felt a certain sense of… pride at Vivian's response. Her sardonic words paired with her "no bullshit" stance gave him cause to smile a bit.

Maybe that's why she was so bad at smooth talking or haggling—she had no awareness of how cutting her blunt honesty could be. Either that or she simply didn't care. But he assumed it was probably the first one. He could probably help her learn how to hone that sharp tongue into something more lethal.

They continued walking and passed a flimsy plastic gate held together by rusted metal. It creaked as they pushed past it easily and the view of the bustling heart of the town came into view. Vivian seemed to keep a few paces ahead of him and he jogged to catch up.

"So…" he cleared his throat. "Want to tell me about the guinea pigs?"

"No."

"C'mon, boss."

"Leave it be, MacCready."

"I'll buy us a couple of noodle bowls from Taka if you tell me," he suggested, watching her profile from the corner of his eyes. She seemed to be actively ignoring him. "No dice?"

"Shut. Up." Vivian grimaced.

"I know. A vendor here sells these cherry flavored Nuka Colas. No one can turn those-"

"Ugh!" She let her head fall back as she groaned, her steps faltering. There was a beat of silence before she stopped, running a hand over her face. "I may have told a reporter here that I was trapped in Vault 111 with nothing but a thousand carnivorous guinea pigs."

At that, MacCready let out a bark of laughter. "You did _what_?"

"Look, it wasn't a total lie," she said with a huff. "We were all technically guinea pigs…" she must've read his puzzled face because she waved a dismissive hand before continuing to walk. "Never mind. Just, please, avoid that whole mess of an area. Last thing I need is for Piper to rope you into an interview too."

"Don't worry, I won't spill all of your dirty secrets." He teased, eyeing the ramshackle building known as _Publick Occurrence's_.

"You have to know secrets in order to spill them."

"I'll just make something up."

"I will cut you, Mac. I swear to god," she whirled around, her hand resting threateningly against the machete at her thigh.

While her tone was rather convincing, MacCready could see a glimmer of humor in her eyes. But that humor died quickly once she realized he was smiling at her. It was actually kind of fun to get on her nerves.

They walked towards the noodle stand and set their bags under the counter, taking a moment to survey the flurry of people walking in and out of buildings. Vendors called out to passersby's, attempting to entice them with sales. MacCready was never fond of the town and for good reason, but he had to admit it was refreshing to at least get out of Goodneighbor. He watched Vivian dig around in a pack clipped to her belt before averting his attention elsewhere.

It had been at least a few weeks without any job prospects before he stumbled across his current employer. The terms of their contract hadn't really been discussed, but he was starting to wonder exactly how long she wanted him around. The idea of going back to the Third Rail and waiting for more business wasn't necessarily promising, especially with the Gunners on his ass. But if sticking with Vivian wasn't going to be consistently lucrative, he might have to relent.

Duncan needed all the financial support he could get right now. He was still alive but his condition wasn't improving, and he wasn't sure what his caregivers could accomplish without the necessary funds for his medical needs. At this point, everything they did for him just seemed to be palliative but it was all MacCready could do until he acquire the cure.

_If _he acquired the cure. If what Sinclair had told him was true, the cure was holed up in some abandoned Med-Tek research building. He'd tried venturing there on his own not too long ago, but the building had been overrun by ghouls and he was forced to retreat. It was the second time in his life that he had to leave something incredibly important behind due to ghouls. He involuntarily shivered at the memory, trying to push the sounds of Lucy's screams out of his mind.

He tried to keep his face impassive but the tangle of worried thoughts must've been noticed, because he found Vivian's gaze boring into his face. "Did you hear me, Mac? Hello?"

"Yes, sorry." He looked into Vivian's skeptical eyes. "Okay, no. I didn't hear anything you said."

"I _said _wait here," she pulled out a handful of caps from a pack at her waist and deposited them onto the counter. "Buy yourself some food while I go look around."

"Being paid to sit and eat, eh?" He pushed around a few of the caps, watching them skid along the counter top. "That's a first."

"Consider it an added bonus to being my hired gun." She patted him on the back, rough enough to push him forward slightly. "Just sit pretty and behave while I'm gone."

"I can't promise that," he teased, turning to throw her a mischievous grin, but she was already walking away and pushing herself through the throngs of people.

He watched her shock of blonde hair disappear around a corner, idly wondering where she was off to. Once again, he found himself a bit shocked at her naïve trust in him. She'd just flung a bunch of caps onto a counter and left him to his own devices. He could easily just snatch up the money and go about his day, abandoning their deal like it was nothing to him. MacCready was a man of his word, so he wouldn't fathom doing that to anyone, but any lesser mercenary absolutely would.

The only time he'd ever abandoned a gig was when his employer shot an innocent settler in the head. Shortest job of his life. It took everything in his power to not strangle the man right then and there, but he left instead, promising to never work with him again. MacCready had a reputation to uphold, and '_slaughterer of the innocent_' was not something he wanted added to his resume.

He turned back around and ordered a bowl of noodles from Taka. It was placed in front of him shortly, and he pushed the caps towards the vendor. The robot replied in gibberish and retrieved the caps, moving to another customer who'd just sat at the bar adjacent. Steam wafted up from the bowl, the delicious smells of spices mingling with broth making his mouth water. He couldn't wait for it to cool down and immediately shoved a huge bite into his mouth. It was hot and burned his tongue slightly but he didn't regret it, following it up with another bite of the savory noodles. He could get used to this.

"Did you read the newest edition of Publick Occurrences? The one about that Vault Dweller?"

"Yeah, did you?"

"Just read it this morning. That thing about the guinea pigs… terrifying."

MacCready's ears perked up. Talk about being in the right place at the right time. He eyed the two people a few stools down who happened to be discussing his current boss. It was an older woman and a rough looking male companion, both wrapped up in ratty clothing. Nosy as he was, this piqued his interest and he listened intently.

"I can't believe that's the only thing you remember from the entire article." The woman clicked their tongue. "You don't even know what a guinea pig is."

"I do too," the man replied gruffly. "Don't look at me like that. Admit it, if you were locked underground with a bunch of meat-eating rodents, you'd be scared shitless too."

"I'm not saying I wouldn't be." The woman laughed tightly, her face falling as she cleared her throat. "Still, I can't imagine what she's going through. One moment you're _there_, doing whatever it is pre-war people did, and the next you're being frozen for two-hundred years and waking up to… this."

"That's gotta be rough to deal with," the man trailed off. "Real shame about her son, too. Damn the Institute and their synths."

"Stealing a baby from their mother without a second thought," the woman shook her head. "Monsters. To hell with them."

MacCready sucked in a breath, his heart shooting into his throat. A son? Frozen for two hundred years? His gaze wandered back to where she'd disappeared, almost paranoid that she'd happen upon him while eavesdropping.

Vivian seemed so out of place because she _was_ out of place. She'd been down in that vault, frozen, for _two hundred fucking years_. That couldn't be true. Vivian had lied about the guinea pigs (most likely), so how far-fetched would it be for her to lie about that as well?

"I hope she finds that poor baby soon. Maybe that'll give hope to the rest of the Institute's victims out there."

"Me too." The man replied. "Anyway, did you hear about that..."

MacCready stopped listening.

His brain churned and buzzed as it ruminated on the new information. If what his boss had said was true, about being frozen, that would make her over _two-hundred years old._ She would've known what the world was like before the bombs dropped. That alone was amazing in and of itself. Almost too amazing to be true.

And what had happened to her son?

MacCready pushed his unfinished bowl of noodles away, taking his hat off to run his fingers through his hair. He imagined Duncan being ripped from his arms and a shiver of fear ran through his body. If he was Vivian, he'd be cutting a bloody swath across the commonwealth just to find him again. But with her, he wondered, where could she start?

Maybe that's why she did the interview. Coming to the biggest settlement with the highest volume of people had potential. Maybe the reporter gave her something, a lead of some sorts. His boss _had_ mentioned coming to Diamond City for information.

A groan rumbled up from his chest and he raked his fingers through his hair again, discarding his hat on the counter top. The balls of his hands found his eyes and he pressed until flashes of light appeared behind his eyelids. This was way more than he signed up for.

"Come on, Mac." A voice called from behind him. "Time to go."

He jumped at her voice, scrambling to find his cap and place it atop his head once more. Vivian was standing at his side, her hands balled into fists at her hips and a guarded look on her sharp features. He fumbled for words, trying to come up with something smooth or cocky to reply with, but words escaped him. When he didn't reply fast enough, Vivian let out a frustrated grunt and hooked her hands under his bandolier, giving it a rough tug. With a start, he bounced to his feet and pushed her hands away. She retrieved her pack from under the counter and he followed suit, letting her stay a few paces ahead.

MacCready had to play it cool. If he was awkward or short with her she was bound to notice. Last thing he wanted to do was clue her in on what he knew.

"Where we headed, boss?" He asked evenly, following her back through the entrance to the city.

"Somewhere that's not here," she replied. Her tone was impatient and her shoulders were squared and stiff.

"Okay," he shrugged. "Did you find the information you were looking for?"

At this, she remained silent. That alone made his insides sink. Deciding not to press anymore, he pulled his rifle into his hands as they entered the main street, doing a quick sweep of their surroundings.

Once again, they found themselves in silence as they traveled. But unlike this morning, this silence was heavy. It hovered between them in a thick, invisible cloud that MacCready could practically cut with a knife. He noticed they were headed east and into the clustered buildings that surrounded Diamond City. Tall structures with broken windows and exposed steel beams touched the sky above them, reaching outward like otherworldly skeletons. The size of them always baffled him and made him a touch uneasy.

Debris and burnt out cars littered the ground ahead of them, and he followed Vivian as she made a sharp turn. Her nose was deep in her pip-boy as she fiddled with the nobs once again. Part of him expected her to play her usual music but she didn't. For the first time since their meeting, he'd partially hoped that she would just so the silence between them was filled with something. Anything.

He focused on the back of her head. She'd forgone the ponytail from yesterday, letting her blonde hair cascade across her shoulders like a pale waterfall. It was kind of pretty. Typically he liked dark hair but he found this color suited her.

The jumpsuit she wore was the same as the day before. It looked black but, every now and then, the fabric would catch the light and show glimmers of dark green. The leather of her armor creaked as she moved, jostling the weapons strapped to her back. Today she'd gone with her usual weapons; a bowie knife at her hip and a machete at her thigh. But he noticed she'd acquired a shotgun, probably bought while she was wandering around town, and it dangled across her back. Did she even know how to use it?

Almost as if sensing his question, Vivian looked at him over her shoulder. Her honey eyes were dark and curious as she regarded him before turning back around.

"We're headed to a vault," her voice broke the silence. "There's someone there that might be able to help me. Now that you know, can you please stop staring at me?"

"I wasn't staring at you," he said defiantly, feeling a flare of annoyance. "I was looking at that shotgun. When did you manage to find that?"

"I keep a stash of spare weapons everywhere I go," she slowed her pace. She dropped into position at his flank. "I find a lot of them when I travel and repair them when I have time. I may not know how to shoot well but I understand how they work."

MacCready eyed the weapon again. "A combat shotgun?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "When I found it, it only had an eight round box magazine but I upgraded it to a twelve round extended magazine. I thought… I don't know. Where we're headed it might be better to have something high powered that works in close proximity."

"Makes sense. A gun that works when you're close up might be better for you, anyways. Since, ya know," he gestured to her bowie knife, "that seems to be what you're good at."

At this, Vivian smiled. It was weak and lasted only a second but he noticed.

"I was thinking…" she started off.

"Yeah?"

"Maybe, when we have some time to kill, you can show me how to shoot?" She glanced at him quickly, chewing on her bottom lip. "I know it's not part of the job, but-"

"I don't mind," he cut her off. "I'm the best gun in the commonwealth, it's only natural you'd want my help. Your aim is awful."

Vivian rolled her eyes and gave him a nudge with her shoulder. "You're so humble."

"But admit it, you're impressed."

"I'm not going to feed your already bloated ego, Mac."

He chuckled and they kept moving onward.

Vivian mentioned that the vault wasn't far and it wouldn't take long to reach it, but they kept running into setbacks. First, it was a small cluster of super mutants holed up on the bottom floor of a derelict apartment building. MacCready managed to take out a couple while Vivian finished off the rest.

The second setback happened when they came across a large, stagnant body of water. It looked as if the road had collapsed and the pothole was flooded by a burst pipe. They'd started to move around it when Vivian froze, balancing on the ledge of the fissure. Her eyes scanned their surroundings, his multiple promptings for explanation either ignored or shushed.

Then he saw it. It was at the far edge of the water adjacent from their position. Its sickly pale skin seemingly glowed beneath the shadows of the buildings as it lay deathly still, only the small rise and fall of its chest letting them know it was very much still alive.

He was about to usher her along, frustrated at her unwillingness to move forward because of a single ghoul, when she grabbed him firmly by the front of his duster. With a strength he didn't know she could muster, she threw him backwards with enough force for him to fall. A loud curse escaped his lips before he could correct himself as he crashed into a hollowed shell of a car. Bewildered and beyond pissed, he pushed himself off the ground, rubbing at a sore spot on the back of his head. When he looked up again he saw Vivian fending off not one ghoul, but _three_, who were standing in the exact spot he was just in.

Instead of yelling at Vivian like he'd initially wanted to, he withdrew his rifle and began firing. The first bullet struck the ghoul closest to his boss right in the temple and it crumpled to the ground at her feet. She quickly turned around just in time to parry an incoming attack from another ghoul, using her bowie knife to hack and slash at its throat. He gazed down the site of his rifle, trying to get a steady shot of the ghoul's head but they were moving too fast. The last thing he wanted to do was shoot his boss instead.

With a loud grunt, Vivian brought up her boot and connected it with the ghoul's chest, pushing it back just enough for him to get a shot. Dark, coagulated blood burst from the creature's skull and coated the ground with crimson flecks.

The third ghoul had managed to retreat, only to reemerge as it flew itself full force at Vivian's flailing form. She'd anticipated the blow but didn't have enough counter strength to stay standing, and he watched with growing dread as they both slipped down the edge of the fissure.

"Boss!" he sprinted forward, rifle gripped firmly in his hands.

As he reached the edge and peered into the water, he saw Vivian struggling against the creature's withered limbs. Its rotten teeth were opening and clamping shut, far too close to her face for MacCready's comfort. A strange shock of fear shot through his body as he watched her. Her hair was soaked with grimy water and thick tendrils stuck to her cheeks and forehead. Her arms trembled as she blocked another attack, the ghoul getting closer and closer to her with each swing.

The fear suddenly shifted into rage. Rage at Vivian for pushing him out of the way when _he_ was hired to protect _her_. Rage at the stupid fucking ghouls who manage to take everything away from him. And rage at the weird way his body was responding to this, as if he was watching Lucy be attacked all over again. But this wasn't Lucy, this was Vivian. And this wasn't the metro, this was a random intersection of buildings in the commonwealth. His blood pressure rose steadily and he raised his rifle, a trembling finger hovering around the trigger.

The ghoul continued to scratch and gnaw at Vivian, planting a firm bite on her forearm. She let out a yelp of surprise and pulled away, fumbling against the irradiated water that sloshed against her shins. Just as the ghoul was about to lunge at her again, MacCready fired. It dropped like a bag of sand and partially sank into the water, floating face down.

MacCready took a step closer and fired another shot at its head. Then another one. When he was confident that the creature was dead, he put his rifle at his back.

Without a word he moved down the slope towards his boss and looped a finger under the shoulder of her cuirass. Despite her protests, he dragged her along with one arm, ignoring as she stumbled. When they finally reached the top of the fissure he let her go, trying to conceal the anger simmering deep within his chest.

"What the hell, Mac?" Vivian ground out. She was readjusting her armor and pushed her wet hair out of her face with an angry huff. "Dragging me like that was a little uncalled for."

He whirled on her. "You know what was uncalled for? Pushing me out of the way and letting yourself be overrun by ghouls. That's how you get yourself killed, Vivian."

She seemed taken aback and let her eyes fall to a random spot in the distance. The annoyance she held before was gone, replaced with some emotion he couldn't discern.

"I was just…" she trailed off for a moment. She shook her head. "I was just trying to protect you."

"I don't need to be protected, _you do_!" He pointed a finger at her. The anger he felt before bubbled to the surface, heat blanching out across his face and spilling into his words. "That's why you hired me. What you just did was incredibly stupid and reckless. _Damn_ your heroics. Next time—"

"Next time," she cut him off, her honey eyes fiery, "I'll push you _into_ the swarm of ghouls so you can be a nice tasty treat. Fuck me for caring about your safety, right?"

Almost instantly, the flaring indignation between his ribs evaporated. "Boss, I…"

"No, I don't want to hear it." She turned on her heel and began to walk away. "You're an insufferable asshole. Let's go."

He followed in step behind her once more. He made sure to keep enough space between them, just in case she decided to whirl around and gut him with her knife.

He wouldn't blame her if she did.

By the time they reached their destination, it was late in the afternoon. Aside from a few commands here and there, Vivian was doing an excellent job of ignoring him. It was fine by him. Sure, maybe the way he handled it wasn't the best but his anger was valid. The last thing he needed was someone sacrificing themselves for his safety. How would that look if the word got out?

_Extra! Extra! Hired gun can't even keep his employer safe. _

The fact that she was even willing to jeopardize herself for him was baffling and he just didn't understand why.

Vivian stopped in front of the entrance to Park Street Station, looking down at her pip-boy for a few seconds before shrugging to herself. Without a word, she moved towards the doorway, turning to him and beckoning him with a glare. He followed quietly. This sure didn't look like a vault but he wasn't going to question her right now.

He wanted to keep all of his limbs.

As soon as they crossed the threshold, they were greeted by two bereft escalators. Fluorescent lights reflected off of the tiled walls and various piles of trash decorated the floor. He found Vivian crouching in a corner at the top of the stairs, hiding behind a garbage can. She was flexing her fingers and digging around, unsuccessfully, in her pack with the other hand. Only then did he remember that a ghoul had chomped down on her forearm earlier. He crouched down to her level and silently grabbed her bag, fishing out a stimpak from the bottom.

"How did a ghoul manage to bite through your armor?" He asked, his voice barely a whisper.

She looked at the frayed material and shook her head. "Must've found a weak spot."

"We'll fix it up, don't worry." He replied, sticking the needle of the stimpak into the back of her ungloved hand. "There."

"Thank you," she winced. She wouldn't meet his gaze.

Vivian tested her arm and seemingly found it satisfactory. Without hesitation, she withdrew the shotgun from her back and moved forward, still slightly crouched. He kept up with her, only pausing as they approached a doorway. Voices could be heard from within but he couldn't discern exactly how many people were in there. His boss pressed her back against the wall next to the opening, clutching her shotgun to her chest, her eyes closed as if deep in thought. The rise and fall of her chest was quick and her breath shuddered when she exhaled. Was she scared?

Then her eyes snapped open and she whirled around the corner, opening fire on whomever was dwelling within. A loud curse could be heard and a cacophony of gunfire followed, bullets ricocheting off the walls. Shards of broken tile and stone exploded around them, shattered pieces falling at his feet and coating his duster. He was close behind her, watching as she took down an approaching figure with one shot to the chest. As he scanned the room, he noticed that all of the goons were impeccably dressed. They adorned pinstripe suits and fedoras, looking like the bad guys out of some cheesy black and white movie.

Another one came running from around the corner and before they had the chance to fire upon Vivian, MacCready took aim and shot at his neck. The man dropped his gun and pawed at his neck, the look of surprise and fear evident in his watery eyes. Crimson ribbons bubbled from between his fingers and out of the corners of his mouth before he tumbled forward.

He watched his boss' back as she stormed into a booth to their left. One of the assailants had been hiding and taking pot shots at them from behind the shattered glass window. With a swift kick, the door to the booth flung open and she open fired. The man's head jerked backwards as a fresh spatter of blood coated the counter and windows.

MacCready approached her from behind and let out a low whistle. "Dang, boss. You suck with a pistol but with a shotgun you're a force to be reckoned with."

Vivian just rolled her eyes and silently moved about the room, pocketing what ammunition and other supplies that she could find. "What can I say? The shotgun just speaks to me."

They moved to the lower level of the metro station. The area beneath them was filled with more assailants. Some of them were ghouls, some were human, but they all sported the same outfits as the others. He was starting to realize this was some sort of vintage wannabe gang. Whoever had control of this area must be living out some mob boss fantasy. He propped his rifle against the flat tiled half-wall lining the stairwell. It was hard to keep the gun level but he'd make it work. Vivian waited for him to fire before leaning around the wall and shooting into the fray.

Despite this area being way more populated than the room above, they managed to take them out swiftly. MacCready picked off who he could from a distance and Vivian killed the ones who managed to draw in closer. They seemed to work well together, playing off one another's movements and strengths.

It was the first time in years that he felt like a cohesive team. It was so different from their encounter with the super mutants only a day prior, _she_ was different. Confident and resolute in her actions, which she executed without hesitation. Whether she was being driven by purpose or hope for what they'd find at the end of this venture, he wasn't sure. But he was definitely glad nonetheless.

They easily picked off the remaining gunmen, scavenging parts, ammo, and stimpaks as they went. Their path was illuminated suddenly by a few work lights, strung together with humming generators. A giant protruding vault door came into view. Particles of dust and smoke lofted across the beams of light as he stared in awe. Vivian worked her way up to a platform next to the door, unhooking a protruding wire with a plug on the end of it from her pip-boy. With one click, she connected her pip-boy to the control panel and slammed down on a large button. Gears churned and creaked, steam spewing from the hydraulics as lights and sirens sounded from above.

If whoever was in there wasn't aware of their presence before, they certainly were now.

Vivian went to charge headfirst into the vault and MacCready grumbled, jogging to keep up with her. She was damn persistent. They entered a brightly lit room, filled to the brim with vault-tec supplies that hadn't been touched in years. Everything was pristine and undamaged in a way he had never seen before, save for a few pillars marred by gunshots.

A well-dressed ghoul came charging out of the office at Vivian's side, wielding a bat and spewing expletives. Without pause, MacCready put one in his chest and then between the eyes. As the bat skittered along the floor, another challenger appeared, and his boss fired two to his chest. The man's gun went shooting along the ceiling as he hit the ground.

Her shock of blonde hair appeared around the corner and once again, MacCready was scrambling to catch up with her. As he rounded the doorway to the office, he arrived just in time to see her vanish behind a door at the far end of the room. He entered the hallway just in time to catch Vivian driving her blade into the chest of another gunman, clearly oblivious to another assailant taking aim at her from a room down the hall.

Without thinking, MacCready grabbed her around the waist and pulled her backwards, just in time for a bullet to go whizzing past them and plant into the metal wall.

Vivian tried to wriggle out of his grasp but he held on tight. "You need to slow down."

"Screw you, Mac. Let me go," she tried to squeeze her fingers under his arm and push him away.

"No," he said sternly. "This is the second time today that I'm going to tell you that what you're doing will get you killed."

"There you are!" A strange voice sounded from above them.

MacCready and Vivian looked up to see another gone-toting goon peering at them from around a stack of boxes. The distraction was just what Vivian needed to jump out of his grasp, climbing to her feet so fast he barely had time to react. And neither did the other guy.

Vivian moved in a zig-zag pattern and kept low to the ground, her bowie knife clutched in her hand. The man fired a series of shots, starting to back up and panic the closer she got. She kicked over the stack of boxes and lunged, jamming the knife into the man's ribs. The entirety of the blade disappeared up to the hilt and he watched her seethe as she twisted it. He slumped to the ground and Vivian moved on wordlessly, her shotgun dangling against her back as she ran.

More shots could be heard and MacCready withdrew his pistol, keeping it aimed as he checked each room, making sure it was clear. A yelp reverberated down the hall and he looked up just in time to see another gunman shoving Vivian against the wall, a hand around her throat. Her bowie knife skittered to the ground, one hand fumbling at the hand at her neck and the other rooting for the machete at her thigh.

MacCready's boots rattled against the metal grating of the hallway as he moved swiftly, the muzzle of his pistol steady as he readied himself. A bullet hit the man's wrist and another landed in his shoulder. The gunman dropped Vivian to ground and she wheezed. MacCready went to put another one into the man's temple when the man jerked, looking down at the blade wedged in his stomach and then to Vivian, whose vicious glare could kill in and of itself. That feral look MacCready recalled seeing during their fight with the super mutants resurfaced as she pulled the weapon out of his side, not even bothering to look as he hit the ground.

She slid against the wall, a trembling hand ghosting the fresh bruises forming on her neck. In an instant, MacCready was at her side, letting a comforting hand fall against her shoulder. Gently, he tilted her chin upward with his forefinger and thumb. She flinched a bit before defiantly pulling away, setting her simmering gaze onto his face.

"Don't," she breathed. "Don't lecture me."

"I wasn't going to."

"Liar. I can see it in your eyes."

"What you're seeing is concern, boss. That jerk really got ya. Here," he stood and proffered his hand, which she accepted after a brief pause. Her fingers were cold in clammy and he had a hard time letting go once she was on her feet.

She bent over to pick up her discarded bowie knife. "Thanks, Mac."

"It's no problem. But seriously, you need to slow down. I don't know what's gotten into you, but you've been on one since we left Diamond City."

"Oh, that's rich coming from you. You're the one that bitched at me for saving your life earlier."

"That was different and you know it. Besides, I'm just…" he faltered, trying to find the right word. "Worried."

"Worried?" She repeated, one meticulously shaped brow raising. "We don't have time to talk about this. We can swap feelings once this is over and done with."

She turned to leave and he grabbed onto her arm, pulling her back. "Stop. Please, boss. Just listen to me for a sec, okay?"

Her eyes traveled to where he held onto her and he let his hand drop to his side. With a huff, she crossed her arms over her chest and looked at the ground. "Fine."

"Look. I've only known you for a few days, but you're my employer and it's my job to worry about whether or not you die." He tried to keep his voice calm. "Earlier, you threw me out of the way and put yourself between me and a pack of ferals- god knows why. Now, you're ten steps ahead of me and stabbing and shooting anything that moves without caring what happens. It might not be completely my business, but we're a team now and you can't leave me behind like that. So what's up?"

"Mac," she said, her voice shaky. All traces of bravado disappeared as she visibly deflated. "I'm sorry, okay? This whole thing is complicated. I've waited so long just for any kind of lead, for even an ounce of something that I can go on. I just… don't want to wait anymore. I need to know."

"Know what?"

"If this man can help me," her tone was soft now, vulnerable. "If he can help me find someone very important to me."

There was a sort of desperation about her that he understood now. Vivian still wasn't aware that he knew, but he got it. The faster they got through this vault, the closer she was to finding out what happened to her son. There was nothing he wouldn't do to save Duncan, so how could he blame her? With a knowing sigh, he let his head drop as he nodded.

"Okay. Let's do this."

A smile broke out across her features and her hand found its way to the crook between his shoulder and neck. She gave a gentle squeeze, "Maybe you're not such an asshole after all."

"I wouldn't say _that_," he smiled back at her, trying to ignore the way his shoulder tingled in her hand's absence.

* * *

**Okay. So. I said this was going to be a slow burn but it's so hard to just... not... do the things. Ya know? The little bits of fluff and confusion as to why they're feeling a certain way. I'm so used to writing one-shots where everything pertaining to the relationship is already established. I thought about keeping them impartial and cold to one another for a few more chapters but I'm taking it in a different direction. Hope y'all don't mind. **


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